Letters from Armorica, 30 Mai 33AF


I had intended to leave Madame Truc’s by now, but I think I’m stuck here for a while. She has decided to take me under her wing—metaphorically not literally, for which I am grateful—and has not only rallied her friends to find me a job as a clerk in a shipping firm, she has upgraded me to a nicer room. I no longer need to form a hand-glow in secret (always being sure to lock the door before I begin, lest anyone see) in order to read in my room in the evenings, for now I have a whirtle-oil lamp “of the very finest” and a chair “of the most comfortable” in which to sit. Madame even provides the whirtle-oil. It would seem ungrateful to leave now

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